I'm not Dancing
by ganja-chan
Summary: Sherlock finds a new case to solve during a salsa party. John isn't that eager to go, but he does after all, which has some negative consequences which then turn into massively positive ones. As this is a result of a plot bunny biting me, so expect much crappiness and possible OOC-ness. And keep in mind that this is a slash story, which means two men having a go at it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: That's just the effect of a plot bunny biting me when I came back from my latino dance class one day. You can imagine. The story is PWP but as far as I got to it doesn't really contain any real porn (neither does it contain a real plot for that matter), so you know already that it's probably be going to be as crappy as possible (of course some porn would save it but I haven't got to that part yet ). Anyway please tell me if you like it, and what I can improve ;) I tried to incorporate the perception of reality that you get after drinking some alcohol but not enough to be properly drunk. Possible warnings are: much gayness included, John being jealous and Sherlock being a bit of a bitch, a very crappy case as a pretext to get those two shagging mindlessly, and VERY POSSIBLE OOC-ness. Sorry for that, wanted to get rid of the bunny so that I can proceed with Tricks of the Mind :) which I encourage you to read btw. **

* * *

"Salsa party, tonight", John heard Sherlock call as he entered the flat. Then, he heard latino music and he knew already what Sherlock meant, but he still tried to refuse. It was their little ritual since they decided that they were more than friends.

"Yeah, good luck", he replied, taking off his coat and heading towards the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and maybe tea.

"You're going too".

"I'm not, not to a salsa party".

"Yes, you are, because it's for a case".

"Sure, for a case. Can you even dance salsa, by the way?"

"Not yet", Sherlock replied, eyes focused on his laptop's screen. The latino music was coming from the speakers.

John helped himself to a slice of bread with ham and when the kettle boiled, he made two cups of tea. It had become his custom to make tea for Sherlock too whenever he made some for himself. "What do you mean, not yet?"

"Collecting data".

John put the tea mugs on the table and seated himself on the armrest of the chair where Sherlock was sitting. He munched on his sandwich, staring at the screen. Sherlock was apparently watching an excerpt of an episode of "Dancing with the Stars" that included a very gay-looking guy dancing salsa with a girl who looked more manly than he did. The guy was wearing a black T-shirt and black tight-fit jeans on his skinny bottom.

"So you think you can learn it just by watching a TV show?", John asked.

"The basics, yes", Sherlock switched to another episode, featuring a different guy with a different girl. "I was hoping you could teach me more".

John almost choked on the sandwich. "You're kidding me, right? I'm not-"

"You told me once that you used to attend latino dance lessons with one of these women of yours", Sherlock muttered, still focused on the rapidly moving couple, obviously hurt by the fact that John didn't remember that he had told him that. There were more tabs open in the browser, including search results on typical salsa outfits and basic steps.

"That doesn't mean that I can dance", John retorted, reaching for his mug, but before he could grab it, Sherlock caught hold of his elbow and looked at him with a hint of plea in his eyes. With a sigh, John realized that he had no choice. He simply couldn't resist Sherlock's version of puppy eyes. "Okay, I'll go with you, but don't make me dance". Sherlock seemed satisfied with his reply, though John could see the dangerous gleam in his eyes.

* * *

"Oh no, John Watson, you're not going in these clothes", Sherlock said when John entered the living room.

Sherlock apparently was in great mood. John couldn't say the same about himself. He had been hoping for an evening with telly and probably a beer or two, and now he would spend half of the night in some posh club with a mojito or a cuba libre in hand...

The only good thing about it was that Sherlock was there too, and when he finished the case, they would maybe have some fun together. Not necessarily involving salsa.

"What do you mean? It's my club wear", John retorted, checking himself out in the mirror. He was wearing jeans and a blue shirt that he had thought Sherlock liked, and he wanted to take his black cardigan to complete the outfit in case it was cold outside at night.

Sherlock himself was wearing tight-fit black trousers (what was it? Definitely not cotton; and where the hell did he get them?) with a silk dark blue shirt and his hair was combed backwards. He looked, as always, professional, even though John dared to doubt his dancing abilities after only watching the videos, and even taller than he normally was, which was due to the fact that he was so lean. His hips looked particularly appetizing in this cut.

The detective grabbed John's shoulders and guided him into his own bedroom, where he extracted a tight black t-shirt from a pile of clothes on the bed.

John opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock's gaze silenced him. He sighed with resignation and started unbuttoning his shirt.

He couldn't miss the way Sherlock's throat moved when he did it. He smirked and undid the rest of buttons very slowly, not looking at Sherlock until he was ready to take the shirt off. When he lifted his gaze, there was a hint of blush on Sherlock's cheekbones and his chest was rising and falling a bit quicker than just a moment ago. The cheekbones were much more prominent with his hair done the way it was.

Maybe the party wasn't that bad an idea after all. He put on the T-shirt, which smelled of Sherlock, but was apparently washed beforehand because it smelled also of their fabric softener. The material clung to his chest and John felt ridiculously homosexual, but the way Sherlock was following him with his gaze when he checked himself out in the mirror told him that at least his partner considered him to be sexy.

* * *

The club was dark and latino music was seeping from the speakers. John was standing at the bar, sipping his vodka with coke and trying to look as casual as possible, although he was feeling all the more strange with his hair spiked up with some gel. And the damned latino music. It was tiring to hear it encouraging you to dance all the time. Jazz was so much different; it made you calm. Or classical music. Even Sherlock's violin cacophonies were better than that.

As Sherlock had instructed him on their way to the club, until he told John otherwise, he could do whatever he wanted and Sherlock would take care of the rest. Apparently the case was very dull, as it included someone putting some kind of drug in the drinks of the party-goers, which of course had a very negative influence on the club, at least as far as John understood. As Sherlock really had nothing else to do, he could as well solve this.

Sherlock was already taking care of the case, talking quietly to the bartender a few meters away from John, so that he couldn't hear them. A few women cast seductive looks at John, and there was even one or two who started to chat with him, but apparently John was looking so gay they they didn't take any further interest in him.

And then the music became louder and louder until it boomed through the speakers along with the DJ's voice announcing that the party was about to begin, and Sherlock was still talking to the bartender. John didn't want to give Sherlock the satisfaction and start dancing, and he didn't even want to, so he simply looked at the people repeating the basic steps for warm-up. He felt the vodka from his drink slowly kicking in; it was pleasant.

And then, when the song changed, Sherlock flashed among the small crowd on the dance-floor. He was holding the hands of a woman dressed in a short red dress, looking her in the eyes and all smiles. With their knees slightly bent as it was customary for salsa, they seemed very focused on the steps. Sherlock's hips were moving so perfectly in sync with the music, and his shirt's topmost button somehow became undone. John licked his lips as his mouth became dry; the button deranged him, he wanted either to fasten it again or to unbutton the shirt completely and lay his hands on Sherlock's bare, perfect chest.

But John had to admit that he felt a pang of jealousy at the sight. He knew that even if he went and snatched Sherlock away from the girl, it would do no good – he would only make an idiot out of himself as he couldn't even dance as well as Sherlock or the girl could. He would act as a chaperon for his own partner. So he ordered another coke with vodka and just stared.

The music changed slightly and the girl's leg was between Sherlock's, their chests very close, almost touching, and Sherlock's hands on her back. John was sure his cheeks were flaming red. That was, in a way, hot. He imagined that he was the girl and the whole image made him feel familiar warmth down there. It did feel a bit sick, though; he definitely shouldn't be watching his partner almost cheat on him.

And then, the girl turned her back at Sherlock and started grinding her round ass against Sherlock's hips in a very luscious way, his hands immediately steadying themselves on her sides, stroking them up and down. She turned his head and smiled at him. His hair was a bit disheveled already.

John felt that his eyes start to sting. He had been trying to convince himself that Sherlock was doing that for a case, but now it seemed that he had been enjoying himself a bit too much. But before he could avert his gaze, Sherlock locked eyes with him and winked. Then his hand went lower down the girl's side, his lips close to her neck (John swallowed hard), his fingers working the girl's dress up and up until it revealed a narrow black garter with a pack of white pills attached to it.

When Sherlock snatched it away from the girl, who lost all of her luscious charm and tried to grasp it, John was sitting there with his mouth open, just staring, his drink all but forgotten.

Sherlock put the packet in his pocket and seized the girl by her wrists before the crowd became too interested. Two of three people turned just to see what was happening, but Sherlock explained to them that the girl felt a bit sick and he had to walk her out. The woman was staring at him with a visible intent to stab one of her high heels straight into his heart.

After a few minutes Sherlock returned, pleased with himself. The dull case was over, the police took the girl, who apparently was the owner of a rival club, but Sherlock still had something to explain.

John looked at him, expectantly. Sherlock grasped the drink from the bar and drank all of it in one big sip. "You shouldn't be drinking any more tonight, doctor Watson", he said playfully, leaning closer to John, who backed off, looking away. Sherlock's body was warm after the dance and he smelled of the girl's perfume. "Are you mad at me for solving the case this way?"

John didn't answer, just pursed his lips. Sherlock backed off a bit, apparently confused.

"If you wanted to have a go at a girl, you could have spared me the sight", John said finally, still not looking at his partner. "At least I wouldn't have to witness you almost cheating on me. Or was that another kind of bloody experiment?"

"I wasn't cheating", Sherlock retorted with a more serious tone of voice. "There was no emotional connection".

"She was grinding her ass against your cock, for fuck's sake!", John exclaimed, finally turning towards Sherlock and making an attempt at standing up.

"That's what she did, not me", Sherlock said, taking a seat next to John and seizing him by the shoulders, preventing him from bursting out of the club. When John showed no signs of protest he took hold of one of his hands. "I didn't want you to feel hurt, and I didn't know that it would turn out that way", the detective said, examining John's fingers, which he held close to his face.

"At least look me in the eyes when you say such things", John said in a low voice, knowing that it was the closest to apology that he could hope for in Sherlock's case.

Grey eyes fixed themselves on his, and he knew at once that he had no reason to be angry. He had known Sherlock for such a long time that he, unlike many other people, could tell when the man was lying. Club lights were illuminating Sherlock's face in different colours.

"Does it help you to know that when I was touching her, I was thinking of you the whole time?", Sherlock asked, caressing John's knuckles with his thumb. "And besides, I made her lose all her suspicions first and then finish it as quickly as possible, not allowing for any kind of reckless behaviour".

John sighed and half-smiled. Sherlock had everything calculated, as always.

"I wouldn't forgive myself if I hurt you in that way", the detective added quietly. John leaned in and placed his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He could still smell the girl's perfume on Sherlock's shirt, but that didn't matter as it would soon be replaced with his own scent.

"How did you know it was her?", he asked.

"Oh, it was simple", Sherlock replied, unable to resist the urge to boast about his abilities. He lifted his hand and stroking John's hair gently. "I observed the people in here and she was the only one who was choosing the ones she would talk to on the basis of whether they had a drink or not- can I tell you that afterwards?"

That was unusual. John raised his head. He was starting to feel cozy.

"Why? Why not now?"

"I'd like to dance a bit more before you fall asleep in here", Sherlock said, slipping off the barstool and pulling John lightly by the hands.

"I told you I don't dance", John retorted, trying as he might to stay at his place.

"Oh come on, I will lead", Sherlock didn't give up and before John could realize what was happening, he was in the middle of the dance-floor, remembering the basic salsa step. It was borderline impossible for Sherlock to lead him that well after just watching the videos, but apparently Sherlock was even more brilliant than he had thought.

Sherlock made him do several turns, then placed his hands on John's shoulders and massaged gently, not breaking the movement.

"You have to relax", he said, leaning in closer to John and tickling his ear with his breath. John felt a shudder go down his body, and took several deep breaths to ease the tension in his back. When he did, Sherlock placed his hands on his hips and guided them to a rhythm that was at the same time luscious and comfortable. John's hands snaked up his partner's chest to rest on his shoulders. Their bodies started moving together in a fluid motion, Sherlock's chest and stomach flexing under the silk fabric of his shirt, and his hands so warm on John's body.

If John had been hard earlier, then now he thought he would die if he didn't do something about it.

The realization itself made him grind his hips several times against Sherlock's thigh, yearning for some friction. They were very close by then, as close and Sherlock and the girl had been, and John put one of his hands on Sherlock's nape and the other one on his shoulder to steady himself as his neck was assaulted with a series of small kisses. He lifted his leg and hooked it against the back of Sherlock's thigh, craving more touch, more pressing of bodies against each other...

Sherlock pressed him against the wall and kissed him. It felt so good, the hard wall against his back and ass, the lips pressing against his own, and the light sheen of sweat on Sherlock's cheeks that tasted a little bit salty.

"Should we change the scenery a bit?", Sherlock whispered into his ear just in the moment when the music became quiet enough for John to hear him. His voice was even darker than it was earlier.

"Oh yes, please", John breathed out, desperate to ease the tightness in his pants.

* * *

**That's all for now, might write more later if I still feel the plot bunny roaming around. Now I'm at a loss for words ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here, have some more JohnLock porn while I should be preparing a glossary for a conference on Communism. BTW a bit of advertising, my fic Tricks of the Mind has developed into a sequel, Something That You Need, and I dare to say both of them are better than this one, although they contain no real smut. **

* * *

Sherlock flung upen a door to their left and literally dragged John inside. It was a toilet, and after the darkness of the club, the lights there seemed to be way too bright. John's head hurt.

"Don't you think that someone might walk in on us?", he asked, his eyes closed, not letting go of Sherlock as the taller man dragged him into one of the cubicles and shut the creaking door behind them.

"Isn't it more exciting that way?", Sherlock pushed John against the cubicle wall and pressed their bodies together, rubbing one of his gorgeous thighs against his groin. John stiffed a moan and his hands clasped Sherlock's ass which had been moving in such a suggestive and sensual way back there on the dancefloor. John wanted to feel the moves.

Sherlock's hand snaked down to cup John's erection through his trousers and pants, and John bit on Sherlock's neck. Then there was no more Sherlock against his chest as the detective knelt in front of him, unzipped his trousers and extracted John's cock from under the pants. John gasped at the touch and tried to catch hold of anything, feeling that he was already so close that he would soon trip over the edge. And Sherlock was teasing him, weighing him in his hand, stroking John's thighs and stomach, but never stimulating his cock.

John had nurtured a fantasy about them doing it in a public place, but he wasn't sure it would happen at all, that was what all fantasies are like. And now it did and he wanted it to continue so bad, and it to be quick and hot so that he wouldn't be embarrassed if anyone heard them going at it.

All coherent thought soared beyond the reach of his mind when Sherlock took him in his mouth and sucked hard. He pumped him with his hand too and it definitely was as hot as John had wanted. Sherlock did excellent blowjobs, ones that literally blew John's mind, and John was sure that he had learned it from videos on RedTube, having no experience but he didn't mind at that moment, not at all.

He buried his fingers in Sherlock's hair and bucked his hips against the warm and welcoming realm that was Sherlock's mouth. When he looked down, he saw his cock disappear in Sherlock's reddened mouth, and he was so turned on already that it was almost enough to make him come, but before it happened and before John could protest, Sherlock leaned back and finished John off with his hand. White stripes of semen splashed against his face, neck and shirt.

John was standing there, breathless, staring at the gorgeous sight of Sherlock slowly licking one of his fingers clean, looking him in the eye. Then John put his cock back in place with trembling hands, crouched in front of the detective and licked several drops of semen that had landed on Sherlock's forehead. Then he pressed a long kiss against that place.

"That was incredible", he whispered, bending to lick another portion of his own seed from his partner's face. It tasted a bit of the vodka he had drunk earlier, which felt a bit odd on his tongue, but he knew that Sherlock didn't swallow for a different reason. Somehow, the detective was really turned on when John came onto his face, and John didn't complain.

Sherlock's face was flushed, his lips red, eyes bright and hair curling back into its everyday position from the elaborate hairdo he had managed to force them into earlier that day.

"I think I might need to change my shirt", the detective said, wiping a stripe of the seed from the front of his shirt with his hand. John kissed him, feeling a gleeful laugh make its way up his throat. "And we should go already", Sherlock added between kisses, "or your fear of someone finding us like that will become a reality".

"This", John licked another drop of semen from Sherlock's jaw, "would make it all the more difficult. Care to finish what we started at home?"

As a reply, Sherlock bit his earlobe playfully. After all, the evening turned out exceptionally nice, even the dancing was bearable, and it wasn't the end of it yet. As they stumbled together out of the cubicle, another man came in and eyed them questioningly. John beamed at him, not caring much about what anyone thought anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, um, a friend of mine liked this fic better than Tricks of the Mind, and as I'm an attention whore and praise fuels my self-esteem, I wrote another chapter of this shit. Enjoy :)**

* * *

They didn't even make it to the flat.

When they went out of the club, Sherlock couldn't get a cab, as it was a Friday night and everything was taken, and it was him who suggested with a smug smirk that they go through the park and try their luck on the bus stop on the other side of it, as if he knew what would happen then. On second thoughts, he probably did know, as he himself initiated it.

John was already sated, so he didn't protest too much against the walk. It was a warm night, the alcohol he had drunk was running pleasantly in his veins and he had just been given a blowjob, so what could be better than a walk in the park?

Well, obviously, there _were _better things. Like taking Sherlock's cock in his mouth and making him moan his name when he came. Or letting Sherlock top and fuck John senseless into the bed. Or even giving Sherlock a quick handjob, with the taller man panting into John's neck as John worked him with his hand. God, he missed Sherlock's cock already, but they weren't doing any of these in the _park_, were they?

They were strolling lazily across the park paths, the lanterns illuminating their way. The city was just a distant hum somewhere far, far away; there were quite a few people in the park, mostly snogging on benches or on the grass. John wondered for a moment whether Sherlock would let him snog him like that, and he even turned to ask him, but that was when Sherlock grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Well, talk of like-mindedness. John flung his arms around Sherlock's middle and pulled him closer. John could still taste a bit of his come on Sherlock's tongue, which was finding its way to John's throat, and somehow it was quite erotic. Sherlock groaned and bucked his hips against John's, and if John had thought that maybe Sherlock lost interest in what could be in store for tonight, he was definitely mistaken. He let one of his hands slide down to Sherlock's perfect arse, which he squeezed a bit; fuck, these trousers really were tight...

Sherlock gasped when John palmed and massaged his erection through the thin layer of material. He produced a shaky sigh, and John didn't have to guess how much he needed this.

"What now?", he asked, and somehow Sherlock's smirk sent a shiver down his spine. And there were still smears of dried-up come on his shirt, even though he made sure his jacket covered most of them.

"Come on", the detective murmured and led John by the hand towards a small, dense copse of trees and bushes that was a little way from the path. John cursed whatever higher power it was who gave Sherlock the ability to read other people's minds.

"Where- Oh God, you're not seriously..."

"Oh yes, I am seriously", Sherlock rasped when they were between the trees, and again kissed John, their lips already swollen and wet from the previous kiss, sliding perfectly, and John couldn't help his hands grab the shirt on Sherlock's chest, but soon he backed off a bit, letting Sherlock move to mouth and bite on his neck.

"Sherlock, what if someone sees us?", John whispered, pulling the taller man closer despite his worries. It felt too good to let go.

"It's seriously dark in here, John, trust me", Sherlock replied between kisses, leading John deeper between the shrubbery. He was already unbuttoning John's trousers, all the time grinding against whatever part of John was available. It really was very dark in there, and John could only rely on his touch and hearing.

"And what if someone hears us?", John whispered with almost a moan when Sherlock shoved his trousers along with his pants down to his knees.

"Now, that's something each of us must take care of himself, m?", Sherlock replied, taking his jacket off and hanging it somewhere he could see it. But he wasn't able to leave John for too long a time and soon he was embracing him again, this time fighting with his own trousers with the one hand that wasn't kneading John's arse. John was hard again, his dick rubbing against Sherlock's hipbone as he was grinding against him. They were both panting already, biting back grunts and moans and whimpers which were all the more tempting this way.

God, that was something new, having sex in the park, in a dark copse, where anyone could see or hear them, but it was so arousing that John soon forgot about his doubts. They had done worse things in their career and this time Sherlock definitely wanted to explore the possibilities, with the accomplishment of a case solved still fueling his euphoria.

John helped Sherlock get his trousers down and, wanting to shove his pants down as well, discovered that he wasn't wearing any underwear. His penis was definitely very happy about the freedom and jumped, all ready, to John's hand. It was wet with sweat and John glided his hand over the head, smearing precum around as Sherlock was doing some acrobatic act, trying at the same time to get as much friction as possible, and to get something out of the pocket of his jacket.

John realized what it was when Sherlock turned all his attention back to him, embracing him tightly, and lubed fingers were pressed against the cleft between his buttocks. He gasped at the cold sensation and at the thought that Sherlock really wanted to _take him _there, in the park. His knees went weak and he buried his face in Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock turned him around without further ado. John leaned a bit forward, steadying himself against a tree that he hoped was strong enough, and spread his legs as Sherlock's finger entered his body and was soon joined by another one, and then yet another one to make sure John was well-prepared. The slick sounds were sending shivers of pleasure straight to John's groin, and Sherlock didn't waste any time; John could tell he wanted it bad by his ragged breathing, and soon the fingers were removed, there was a bit of rustling behind John as Sherlock was putting on a condom, and soon John was filled with Sherlock's glorious cock, sliding marvelously into him. John could barely suppress a moan and bit on his hand to prevent it from coming out.

Sherlock was panting behind him, rubbing circles on his back, going very slow at first to let John adjust, but soon he groaned, unable to take it anymore, grabbed John's hips with enough force to leave bruises and thrust into him roughly just there, impaling John onto his impatient cock. John was breathless, sweat was coming down his forehead, and he was definitely close to orgasm, though not as close as Sherlock, at least as far as John could tell by his suppressed whimpers.

Sherlock's hand reached around and started working John's cock in time with his thrusts, which in a short while blinded John with pleasure, and then he remembered that they were in a _fucking park_, and that sent him over the edge. He could feel Sherlock thrust into him one last time before he too came, still clutching John's hips with one hand, riding out his orgasm.

John leaned against the tree he was holding as his head swirled. That was intense. Sherlock was holding him from behind, his latex-clad cock pressing against John's cleft and burning hole. He placed a kiss on John's nape. John turned slowly, paying attention to branches that were suddenly everywhere around (how could he not see them earlier?) and kissed Sherlock, pushing some sweaty locks of hair away from his eyes.

When they caught their breaths, they dressed quickly and made sure that no one saw them walking casually out of the copse. Their faces were still flushed, hair still tousled and clothes a bit crumpled, but no one seemed to pay particular attention to them as they returned to the path.

"And _that _was awesome", John said in a low voice so that no one could hear them, knowing he would have something to fuel his wanking for at least a month, until Sherlock discovers another fantasy of his. "You were so... wild! God, I never even thought you could!"

"Might have been the whole latino dance thing we did earlier; rather arousing, I have to admit", Sherlock dismissed the compliment with a wave of his hand.

"The adrenaline had its impact as well, hm? You know, public places?", John asked with a smirk. Sherlock smiled, looking at him with that mischievous gleam in the eye.

"Yes, although don't get the wrong impression; it _can't _substitute cases".

"I wasn't talking about a substitute", John said. "I was talking about a pleasant addition, a cherry on top, if you prefer".

"Oh, you reminded me", Sherlock said, his expression suddenly changing from a beautiful post-coital glow into a frown. "I was hungry. Do you think we could get a takeaway at this hour?"


End file.
